“Tell her that her life has been a lie.”
What the hell was going on? Mitch shook his head. So far, this case was a logjam of confusion, headed straight toward a cluster— “Got anything else you’d like to drop on my head, old man?”
Again, Drake stayed silent for more than a few seconds. “No. That’s all for now. How much time do you want to scope out the restaurant before I call Liz to introduce you?”
“Ten minutes. Alert me when you reach her.”
Edgy to get the action started, Mitch ended the call on his way to the entrance of the Mariner’s and stepped inside. He scanned the restaurant’s far wall of windows. They faced the outside patio with customers watching an in-play sand volleyball game. Tiki torches lit the beach in the background, while white foam from the incoming waves dotted the distance. The place gave off a good vibe. Might be a little run-down, but the feel was great.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day.” The gray-haired woman behind the bar was as vintage as the place, but her friendly expression welcomed him. “How about a beer?”
“Sounds like a winner.” Taking a slow walk in her direction, he did another scan of the place. “Give me whatever you’ve got on draft.”
The lady drew a frosted mug and sat it in front of him along with a bowl of pretzels, then left him alone. She sure wasn’t the one he’d been sent to protect.
A grunt toward the rear of the restaurant caught Mitch’s attention. He glanced then turned back to his beer. Joey Prentz, a tech guru with OPAQUE, pushed himself out of a booth and headed toward the front counter.
“If you’re hungry, fella, they got some great shrimp tacos here.” As he paid his bill, he slid his eyes to the row of wooden booths toward the back of the restaurant. “Got a great jukebox in the corner, too.”
Mitch nodded. “Thanks, buddy. Will do.”
That’s all it ever took. A nod. A look. A few words. Info passed and processed. Customers none the wiser—what few there were inside.
Joey walked out the door. Mitch had already instructed him to head to the beach safe-house property where the client was staying and stake out the perimeter.
Mitch took a swallow of the beer then strolled toward the jukebox. He needed to locate the woman he was there to protect. He’d seen her photo, but the dimmed lights providing atmosphere were a drawback.
First booth, no one. Second booth, no one. Third booth, no—
There she was. Elizabeth Walkert. Huddled in the corner, her head hadn’t been visible above the high-top back of the seat. The picture Drake had texted him didn’t do her no-nonsense side justice.
Her dark shoulder-length brown hair was cut in one of those swing styles women liked, framed smooth around her face, closing her in. Soft and shiny and silky. Kind of a sexy come-on that could fall against a man’s face in the right setting. In the right position.
Where the hell had that thought come from? He took another swallow of his drink and cleared his mind.
Eyelid-length bangs focused his attention to her eyes, nose, and mouth. Her lips were full, slightly parted. Her nose small and cute. She watched him straight on with gold-speckled, green eyes. Ones filled with chutzpah…and fear.
The way she’d snatched what he assumed was a keychain can of mace said she at least tried to protect herself. She was clenching it tight enough to make a dent.
Mitch slid some dollar bills into the jukebox, chose a few songs, then pretended to search for something else before flipping his hand in the air. He turned in her direction. “Hey, you like music?”
She nodded.
“I’ve got credit for two more songs.” He pointed to the jukebox. “Why don’t you pick a couple?”
“I…uh…” She shook her head as she released her hold on the mace, sliding the keychain into her purse. Still, she kept her hand within easy reach of the no-zip opening.
Stepping slowly in her direction, he tried another tack. Usually, clients already knew he was there as protection. In this case, Drake had told him to wait till he called again. “You don’t even have to get up. Just tell me what you’d like to hear.”
Again, she shook her head. “No. Thanks.”
She did a lot of communicating with a nod or shake of her head. Maybe she liked writing words so much talking took a back seat. “Sorry, I didn’t hear your answer.”
She tilted her head enough the bangs parted and her hair fell away from what turned out to be a beautiful face. “I said no. Thanks.”
Her now visible eyebrows rose as if signaling the conversation was over. A tiny upturn at the corners of her mouth gave him hope he’d made a small inroad. So far, Elizabeth Walkert was a hard-to-read mix.
“How about a dance?” he asked, hoping her reaction would give him some insight to her tells before she knew who he was. Learning someone’s tells was like opening a door to the edge of their emotions. Those tells could come in handy later.
